Garden of Eden
by x-Earl-Ciel-Phantomhive-x
Summary: And, by the Serpent's hand, Eve fell.


**Disclaimer:** I own none of the characters or affiliations of the No. 6 series. They belong to Asano Atsuko and Hinoki Kino.

**Author's Note:** I have recently fallen in love with this series (though nowhere near as deeply in love as I am with Black Butler) and I felt a keen connection with Rat's character, and so I wanted to write something for it. Perhaps I will write more for this series, but for now, let's begin with this: and introspective work into the person that Rat was, and the person that he has become…and how he became that person. For those of you who have read my work 'Achluophobia,' which is an introspective work regarding Ciel's story, you will find that this one is quite similar in style, but this time I will be telling the story of Rat. That being said, please enjoy.

**Garden of Eden**

xXx

"_My Mother groaned, my Father wept, into the dangerous world I leapt." – William Blake_

xXx

He was born in the Forest. The Forest bore him, and so Mother Earth was indeed his Mother, his Father the Sky. On weak, brittle, stumbling legs he learned to walk, frail fingers shakily gripping those of his Mother, strong branches low enough for him to grab, to sturdy himself. His Mother taught him how to walk, and his Father taught him how to fly. He opened his small throat, parted his pale lips, and used his voice to carry him far away from his home, over the oceans and across the deserts and high above the mountains. He was here, he was there, and he was everywhere. His voice grew strong as his fingers did, as his legs did, his being sturdy enough to hold itself up, but never enough to fight. His Brothers and Sister taught him that violence was evil, that hatred would corrupt his soul if he allowed it to corrupt his body, and so he lived in peace. The Forest was full of light, and it warmed the village hidden behind the trees, keeping the people inside of it safe and content…

…Until the day that that light grew far too bright, and that heat grew far too warm, and the Forest was engulfed. Perhaps there was such a thing as too peaceful.

xXx

Grandmother told him that they would take him away. She told him never to sigh, or else the Devil would grab hold of his soul, and never let go.

xXx

It burned. Itburneditburneditburned. He cried, and screamed, and prayed to their Goddess. Their Goddess screamed with him, with them, with the Forest. His Brothers and Sisters fell at his sides while his back was scalded with an incomprehensible anguish, small limbs writhing and twisting, young voice shrieking out across the wind, carrying his pain, their pain far away, sharing the evils of humanity with the world. The light of the Forest died, and his Brothers and Sisters with it. The Men in White Suits took him away from his home, and no matter how loudly he sang for the rest of his days, he could never return home again. He could never find his way back home.

xXx

They took his name, and they gave him a number.

xXx

"_Men occasionally stumble over the truth, but most of them pick themselves up and hurry off as if nothing ever happened." – Winston Churchill_

xXx

He learned of truth there. He saw the faces hiding behind the masks of humans, hiding amongst the humans…or perhaps the humans were the ones hiding amongst whatever these creatures were. He couldn't tell the difference anymore. Perhaps he would be safer to assume that all humans were untrustworthy, and that all that were untrustworthy were human. After all, every single one of them wearing a human's mask entered in a White Suit, and not a single of one them were kind to him, not a single one would help him, not a single one did anything but hurt him. Not a single one of them could be trusted.

Each day it was a different pain, a different tactic, a different person behind the mask wearing the same White Suit, but every day it was the same questions, and so every day he gave the same answers. They didn't like his answers, but that was alright, because he didn't like their questions. When one finally bothered to ask why he refused them the answers that they wanted, he was finally given the opportunity to give them the answer that _he_ wanted.

He stated simply that he just wanted to go home.

xXx

Pain bred anger, which in turn bred hatred. When he had finally given in to the feeling, accepted the fact that the teachings of his Brothers and Sisters were not true in this bright White World, he learned that hatred was the only thing that any of these creatures felt, and it was the only thing that would give him the strength to escape this prison.

He feared for a short while that he would go to hell for allowing hatred and violence to corrupt him, but shortly thereafter the men in the White Suits returned, and he realized with his last ounce of innocence that he had already been taken to hell.

xXx

When one of the Men in White tried to cut his hair, the Forest's Child took his first life.

xXx

He became feral. His instincts and reflexes grew with each White Suit that put their hands on him, each vicious syringe that pierced his skin, each fiery fluid that raced into his veins, and each agonizing, choked cry that split his lips. He grew strong…strong enough to escape.

When he heard the thunder, he knew that his Father was weeping. It was time to go home.

xXx

"_When you come out of the storm, you won't be the same person that walked in. That's what this storm's all about." – Haruki Murakami_

xXx

Freezing tears beat heavily against his pale, tortured skin, his speed the likes of which he'd never known he could reach, his heart racing far past its limits. The Men in White followed him, and his terror was palpable at each turn. He couldn't lose them. Each brush of their filthily-gloved hands at his tattered shirt was closer than the last, and as his bare feet shattered the surface of the liquid glass gliding across the dark grass, he felt the lightning strike his shoulder, piercing his consciousness and racing through his veins like that fiery fluid, dark crimson rivulets spilling down his tiny arm, slipping between his fragile-strong fingers. He fell to his knees beneath his Mother's protection. Ha. What little protection she provided now. His chest was burning, and his shoulder was weeping red, and his vision was spotting with shadows as his time ran short. The sound of the wind groaning and shouting parted his lips, his soul being relinquished to the voice, to the power that he once held in his tiny hands. He would rather die here than be taken back to hell. He would rather join the chorus of souls being stolen, the voices giving in to the horrible pain and torment of this world…

…except one…there was one voice, one soul…that would not go.

The harsh cry pierced the air, quieting the thunder, the wind, the rain and the fear beneath it, overstepping the storm in a clear song. A song of sadness, of fury. A song of resistance, of stagnation, of pain and guilt and a desperate desire for freedom! It was the voice of one who has been deceived.

He opened his dull, silver eyes, and he beheld God.

xXx

The warm light behind those open arms was all the invitation he needed. The sight reminded him of home. It was glorious. He stood on weak, brittle, stumbling legs, the legs that had carried him here, and he passed through the veil between his world, and the boy's.

xXx

"_Look on every exit as being an entrance somewhere else." – Tom Stoppard_

xXx

He felt life beneath his fragile-strong fingers. Hatred filled his dull, moonless eyes, as innocence bled from the smaller's earthen ones. They reminded him of his Mother. He would not think of that now. As his fingers tightened, his heart leapt into his throat as the room spoke. This was the end. He could feel the needles piercing his skin, feel the life slipping away beneath his grasp, but it was not the boy's life slipping away, it was his own, and-!

…And this boy…was not what he expected.

xXx

"_My only love, sprung from my only hate!" – William Shakespeare_

xXx

The boy's name was Shion, and he would incomprehensibly, unknowingly, and unfathomably shatter his reality.

xXx

"_Is it possible for home to be a person, and not a place?" – Stephanie Perkins_

xXx

Shion gave him warmth, and nourishment, and safety and sleep. He treated his wounds, and dried and dressed him, and he laughed when he told him that he would kill him. He smiled when he tried to. He was innocence, he was kindness, he was glory and light. He was all that did not exist in the world anymore, and as he collapsed beside the boy, fever flaring in his skin and chest swelling painfully with a longing to stay in this place, he grasped the boy's hand tightly with his fragile-strong fingers, and he remembered what warmth felt like…

…He remembered what humans truly were.

The masks worn by the White Suits were poor facades indeed.

xXx

"_O, now be gone! More light and light it grows!"_

"_More light and light, more dark and dark our woes!" – William Shakespeare_

xXx

He left with the dawn. The Men in White were gone, as was the storm, as was every trace of the Forest Child's existence save for a cup stained at the base with hot cocoa and at the rim with his lips. He burrowed underground, and the name that he had been given had been taken, and was forgotten. He was now what he had always been, and what he forever would be in his hiding, in his clever ruses and his growth, in his trickery and his flight from the Evil City and his vicious thirst for blood and his deadly bite.

xXx

"_Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in the cage." – Billy Corgan_

xXx

He travelled where his voice had travelled, walked on his no-longer weak, brittle, stumbling legs, for they had grown strong and stable…he walked where his Father had flown him before. Over the oceans. Across the deserts. High above the mountains. He walked, and he learned, and he grew. He grew strong, strong enough to fight…and when he could fight, he returned to the Evil City, fire in his heart, a small spot saved beside it for the boy with the earthen hair.

xXx

Danger fueled his fire. He burrowed beneath the ground, as a Rat would, far enough to evade those that sought him, yet close enough to watch the boy grow…and oh, did the boy grow. He learned that they had come for him, yet the boy hadn't spoken. What a good boy. He grew taller, though barely, and his boyish features didn't change in the slightest while Rat's feminine youth was built over by hard lines and sharp jaw and masculine air. They grew together, yet they grew apart. He could live the rest of his days simply watching the boy.

xXx

"_To watch. To wait. To wonder at a world of chaos, and hope one day you fools might learn." – David Hewson_

xXx

The West Block was dangerous. It was wretched, and filthy, and all of the helpless gathered to take from each other what none had. He found himself running from danger in early days, and wishing that he wasn't here, wishing that he was somewhere else…wishing that he was some_one_ else. This was terror, this was misery, this was _hell_, and as he'd escaped from his previous hell, he needed to escape from _here_, to escape from hunger, to escape from the freezing cold of his underground home, to escape from those that pursued for what he thieved!

One day, he wandered into the run-down theater, and he found his escape.

xXx

The Director said he had a pretty face. He told the Director that his voice was prettier.

xXx

"…_His wings are clipped and his feet are tied, so he opens his throat to sing…" – Maya Angelou_

xXx

Hunger was a fleeting memory, heat and clothing afforded easily with his talents, his escape. He'd always loved literature, and so his home was filled with it. An old piano was salvaged, as was a couch and an old bedframe. He bought a mattress, a few meager eating utensils, locks for the door so direly needed, and the burrow was finally a _home._ He had built it. He had made a life for himself…just as the boy's life was shattered to pieces.

xXx

"_A book without words is like love without a kiss; it's empty." – Andrew Wolfe_

xXx

There was a girl. She loved the boy. He _hated_ her.

xXx

He couldn't help but interrupt when the girl asked for the boy's physical love. It was…just too funny.

xXx

They came for him. He had known that they would, but he had been prepared for years. He brought salvation to his savior, because he couldn't allow them to take the only thing that he held dear from him…not again.

He brought him home, and the home was no longer his, but theirs.

How dare he try to give up. Rat had put far too much effort into him to allow him to give up. He wrapped red ribbon around pale skin, cut deeply into the flesh that he'd fought so hard to protect. His hair was white. He had always hated that damned color…but he loved it on Shion.

xXx

He understood the boy, yet he didn't. It frightened him.

He frightened him.

xXx

The snake had wrapped itself about Eve's body, and it slowly began to tighten it's coil…

xXx

"_How we need another soul to cling to." – Sylvia Path_

xXx

It was no longer quiet in his home. He no longer returned to darkness, or silence, or cold or hunger. He returned to warmth, a fire, the smell of a fresh meal, the sight of a bright, careless, angelic smile in a dark, horrific world…an expression of happiness, truly concerned with nothing at all but how elated he was to see him…and the sound of that sweet voice telling him, 'Welcome home.'

What…was happening? What was happening to his world? To his self? This wasn't right…but it wasn't wrong. He couldn't tell what was black from what was white anymore, not after he'd caught his first tinge of gray. Did he hate this boy, or did he adore him? He was the destruction of his world, and he could be the destruction of so many others if he would only wake up! Awake! Arise! He had such a voice to use…! And yet he chose to use it to bring salvation to the hated. He would not allow it. He had worked far too hard for their destruction, and Shion's salvation…to allow Shion to bring himself destruction by bringing them salvation.

xXx

"_O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright…" – William Shakespeare_

xXx

He always spoke so foolishly. Words such as 'attraction' and 'love' should not be used to carelessly.

xXx

He came to see him sing. He wanted to be angry, he wanted to lash out, he wanted to shout…

But his face was so fully of joy, he simply couldn't break his happiness.

xXx

"_You may delay, but time will not." – Benjamin Franklin_

xXx

He was being choked…

xXx

Warm soup, and names for the mice, and dancing at midnight by candlelight, and sneaking out of the house in the morning, being careful not to wake the snoring lump of innocence on the couch, and organizing books, and reading to children, and so many times he'd grabbed that pale, scarred hand…

xXx

"…_Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow!" – William Shakespeare_

xXx

He kissed him goodnight. It broke him.

The boy was a terrible liar, and so he taught him to never lie to him again.

xXx

That coil was tightening, and he was _choking_…

xXx

He hadn't had nearly enough time with him. It never lasted long enough, his happiness. The Hunt came all too quickly, and with it, his new reality was shattered. He had allowed himself to become content, complacent. Shame on him, playing the fool. Stagnation bred laziness. All the same, he wished he'd had just a day longer with the boy. Just one more day to see that smile…just one more night to gather to courage to throw his fears aside, and invited the boy to warm his bed. It was too late now, and he had no time for regret. Each and every moment, every blink of his eyes was given to protecting Shion. It had always been this way, for as long as he could remember, and he wouldn't have it any other way. So long as his arms were around the boy, he felt as though he could keep him safe…and if he was safe, if he was alive, then nothing else in the entire world mattered…

…Not even the destruction of No. 6.

xXx

They huddled together, like cattle in a cart being transported to the slaughterhouse, sharing warmth and tears and fear and pain and sickness. Those who had once stolen from each other now shared everything that they had in their final moments. They were frightening the boy. He was shaking in Rat's arms, and the children were crying, and so he too shared the only thing that he had to share with them: his voice.

xXx

"…_The caged bird sings of freedom." – Maya Angelou_

xXx

They fell, they rose, they climbed. Their hands never parted. The terror and reality fell harshly upon those pale, frail shoulders, but he wouldn't leave him. He wouldn't let him go. He couldn't live without him now. He wouldn't survive without him. A small, still voice in his mind spat bitterness at him; what was so special about this girl, that he would risk his life for her? Would he risk his life so for Rat? Of course he would. He already had. It didn't matter. It didn't matter who he loved, or who he would die for, because Rat simply refused to let him die. If he wanted this girl saved, then Rat would do all in his power to save her despite how much he _hated_ the idea of her, because anything and everything took a back seat to Shion's happiness.

xXx

Amidst the white darkness, he succumbed to the realization that he had fallen.

He had fallen long ago.

xXx

"_Tempt not a desperate man." – William Shakespeare_

xXx

There was blood. There was so much blood. It was his. He hadn't seen so much of his own blood in years. He couldn't move. He couldn't move, and the gun was pointed at him, and he should be terrified, he should be crying, he should be able to think of nothing but the fact that this was how it would end. After all of his pains, all of his struggles, all of his effort and bloodshed and all that he'd worked for, this was how it would end…a nameless guard, a gun, so close to his goal that it was disgusting to be ended here…he should be terrified for himself.

…Yet, the only worry resting on his mind was the thought of what would happen to Shion should the man pull the trigger. He would have no one to protect him. He couldn't leave Shion unprotected. He couldn't break his promise, he couldn't!

A gunshot. More blood. No pain. He had imagined that he would feel no pain…but when nothing faded, when he didn't hear Shion screaming, he knew that something wasn't right.

He opened his dull, silver eyes, and he beheld the destruction of Eden.

He had destroyed innocence. Paradise was lost.

He cried. He cried for him, and he cried for himself.

xXx

"_Death lies upon her like an untimely frost upon the sweetest flower of all the field." – William Shakespeare_

xXx

She was dead. The girl that he had never truly hated was dead, and now Shion was dead, too. All of the effort poured into his safety, all of the emotion forced down his throat like some squirming, bulging mass of heat was being forced back up. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to force all of those horrible emotions out of him, to return to how he used to be, to care not for the limp form before him on the ground, lying stiller than any corpse that he'd seen before, and oh, he had seen so very many. He wanted to force the emotions out, but damned his soul, dead as the boy was, his coil was still wrapped tightly about his throat, keeping the emotions within his chest, and it was still tightening, _choking_…!

He hadn't wanted this. He had prayed to a Goddess that had never answered him before, begged and pleaded for his life, yet still he lie still…so still. Those pale, dry lips would never part to reveal that beautiful smile, to speak those idiotic, heart-wrenching words, to release that earth-shattering, glorious cry to the heavens again…

Perhaps it would have been better if he hadn't answered the boy's call that night. If he hadn't, then the boy would still be living a comfortable, safe, ignorant life with his Mother, his loved ones. Perhaps he'd marry that girl, have children, be successful. Perhaps…peaceful slavery _was_ better than dangerous freedom. He'd never believe it again for the rest of his life, but gazing down upon the empty shell of the only hope he'd ever had for what very little humans were left on Earth…he could only believe just that.

He covered his porcelain skin with a shroud (he just couldn't look at him like that anymore), and the emotions that could not escape from his lips escaped from his eyes, pouring down his cheeks, trails of sorrow left in their wake for only the Devil to behold now, for he would join him soon. He could feel the life slipping from his grasp as he'd felt Shion's, his dull silver gaze growing fogged with the color which he hated so. He lie beside his failure, his salvation, his destruction and his life, closing his eyes to the world crumbling around him, and he sang. He sang a song of prayer, not for his own soul, but for Shion's. If he could save just one more soul with his song, it would be Shion's.

If he was lucky, the stubborn little brat wouldn't follow him to hell. If he could be assured that Shion had gone to heaven, then an eternity of fiery torment for his sins wouldn't be able to douse his joy.

xXx

He heard a song. It was his song. It was _her_ song. She had finally answered his prayers.

When the boy woke, it was Eve's turn to choke the snake with her embrace.

xXx

They fled. They fled together, and they watched the City fall. The veil between rich and poor, black and white, good and evil fell. There was so much that he wanted to say, to do, to share with Shion in that moment. His dream had been realized, his hatred squandered, his soul freed…all because this boy loved him. He wished more than anything in that moment, on the bright horizon amidst the rubble of dreams and decay, to give the boy whatever he wanted. He only knew for certain of one thing, as he had never truly understood the boy, and so he gave it to him.

xXx

"_A thousand times, goodnight…" – William Shakespeare_

xXx

The City was behind him, Shion with it. He turned, and he walked. On legs that were once weak, brittle, stumbling…now proud, sturdy, strong…he walked away. His body screamed like the boy had screamed on that glorious night. Crippled by his need for the boy, and everything that he encompassed, he wanted to stop, to turn around, to run back and hold the boy in his arms too tightly and never let him go…!

…But he did not belong here. Not in this place. Not in a place of peace, and truth, and light and love. He never had. This place was for Shion…and he had helped to create it. He had finally delivered Shion home…and not to a false haven, heavy with the weight of 'loyalty' and oppression and evil. He had delivered him to a place of safety, of true equality, of love. He would give everything to be certain that Shion would live a long, prosperous life, safe, happy, free…even if it meant that he would live it without him.

And so, he walked. The horizon ahead was endless, and the weight of revenge had been lifted from his once-frail-now-strong shoulders, and it was heart-breakingly wonderful, how true freedom felt. His only regret was leaving Shion behind, but it was a selfish regret. He would miss him. No matter where he found himself, his heart would ache for that small room, for the smell of old parchment and ink and dust, for those sweet smiles and those dances at midnight by candlelight and those names for his mice and those home-cooked meals and that warm, kind voice welcoming him back to the only _home _he'd ever truly have, for his home was not a place, but a person…

…but he would keep walking. He had no idea of where to go, or what to do now…but nevertheless, he kept walking…and he didn't turn back. He didn't even turn to look over his shoulder. Not once.

If he did, he knew that he wouldn't be able to turn back around.

xXx

"_It's hard being left behind. It's harder to be the one who stays." – Audrey Niffenegger_

xXx


End file.
